Silver Moonlight
by Olethros
Summary: A visual journey into Clarice's memory palace...


Silver Moonlight  
  
  
Setting: After Hannibal, the book  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them blah, blah, blah.  
  
  
  
Glistening raindrops fell in a steady, even sheet and covered the mountain slopes around my memory palace with liquid silver. Somewhere beyond the gray clouds, the sun was setting. There was no thunder or lightning; I didn't want it that way. Instead, a cool wind blew through the even strings of rain. I was perfectly content to stand in the middle of the grassy meadow and watch the fog roll quietly over the river.  
  
Seized by a sudden notion, I turned and walked up the mountainside, through the sparse pine forest toward a place I could already see. I don't know how long I moved up the hill, but time did not matter here. I walked past the thin line of trees and found myself by the bank of a lake. I had specially chosen this place, it was the Kivu of East Africa, a crystal-clear jewel of the safari, but now carrying a hue of the deepest blue, something seen only in dreams. And as I watched the raindrops strike the surface, the color did not fade. The gray rain moved sluggishly through the blue, like oil paints swimming through water.  
  
Situated on the opposite bank, atop a small plateau, my memory palace beckoned my attention. It was nothing spectacular, but it would grow by the year, memory by memory. I did not wish to return just yet. Unlike Hannibal, who placed everything in rooms of varying size, I created a whole world outside my palace. It was preferable, I thought, to the mere notion of space behind closed doors. To Hannibal's dismay, I usually spent more time outside my palace than inside.  
  
The rain was slackening as I turned to walk across the flat meadow beside the lake. What greeted me soon was my forest of redwoods. I had seen these giants only once, passing quickly through California, and now they were mine to view as often as I wished. As I walked on the path between the silent behemoths, the rain softened to nothing but a few scattered sprinkles. The redwoods seemed to hold their breath as I moved among them. I heard the raindrops as they fell from the branches of the almost-sentient giants to the thirsty green leaves of the ferns below.  
  
The moon appeared suddenly between the trees, pouring light through a thin veil of fog. This gauze did not dim the light, but rather scattered the moonbeams into glistening spears, as if a star hung suspended in its place. I sat on the damp undergrowth and waited for what I knew would come.  
  
There, a white wolf appears on an outcropping of rock. I watch as it treads carefully to the peak and sits, regarding its surroundings like a king up on high. I keep deathly still, never taking my eyes off the apparition. Satisfied, the wolf raises its head to the moon and releases a mournful howl. But that is not what I hear. The wolf sings the songs of my past and future, every quavering note a bead of warmth. In the blink of an eye, almost without realizing, I am sitting beside the wolf on the rock. The noble white head turns to regard me with dark eyes that seem almost wise.  
  
He turns back to the moon and I look away, into the now darkened depths of the forest. There isn't much I can see, even as the spears of moonlight bathe the area around me with white light. When I look beside me again, the wolf is gone. It its place, Hannibal sits cross-legged, hands resting lightly upon his knees. I am only slightly surprised to see him here. He visits me in my palace upon occasion, although he has never ventured into my world outside. No words are exchanged yet; Hannibal's nostrils flare as he intakes rain-freshened air.  
  
He sighs deeply and strokes the rock lightly with his fingers. "You willed it to rain." It is a statement, not a question.  
  
"There is magic in the rain that endless sunlight couldn't come close to imagining." There is silence after my words. I reach into a spear-like moonbeam and come away holding something like shimmering thread in the palm of my hand. The brilliant string slides through my fingers like fine silk and where it touches my skin there is a tingling sensation, as if I were clutching a warm light bulb in my fist.  
  
I hold out the thread of silver moonlight to Hannibal. He looks dubious but accepts it into his hand. The string of light seems to cling onto his skin and wraps around his palm. Hannibal stares at the light as if he were holding a baby in his hands.  
  
Suddenly, with a cry of awe, shock, and almost panic, Hannibal shakes the silver thread off his fingers and clutches them numbly, as if in pain.  
  
Instinctively, I reach for him. "Oh Hannibal, I'm sorry..."  
  
"No, no," he interrupts me in mid-apology. "I have almost forgotten...what that felt like. I was five the last time..." he trails off, still staring at his hands as if not believing they were real. He turns to look at me again and his eyes reflect the notion that I could possibly frighten him. And he loves me all the more for that.  
  
"Let's go home."  
  
"We can sit here a little longer, if you prefer."  
  
I smile, and Hannibal puts his arm around my shoulders as the moon rises higher and the spears of light gradually change to the softer pinpricks of a million swirling stars. I watch him carefully as the starlight sketches patterns on his face. In my memory palace, I begin to build a new room.  
  
FIN 


End file.
